


Deal with a 'Holy' Devil

by WitchProject19



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Enemies, Gay Male Character, Generally Unsafe Sex Practices, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inappropriate Use of Bliss Oil, Inappropriate Use of Oldies Music, Kinky Brainwashing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Rough Sex, hatefuck, porn with feelings?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchProject19/pseuds/WitchProject19
Summary: Wherein Hope County's rising hero Deputy Rook makes a deal with Jacob Seed; it pays off in one aspect, but really sucks over all. Y'know, like a deal does when you don't think everything through.Or, make better life decisions, Rook. Damn.





	Deal with a 'Holy' Devil

**Author's Note:**

> *kickflips and does a headfirst dive into a trashcan* y'all can find me in the landfill where I belong.

Rook was exhausted. It wasn't the kind of exhaustion that a marathon nap, a good meal, and a gallon of clean water would fix. No, it was the bone-deep, body wrenching tired that made a person want to cry at the very thought of moving or doing anything more than lying horizontal on the first relatively safe surface available. And that was why he’d turned off his radio, climbed the Whitetails, and broken into the first isolated prepper stash he could find to catch at least (so help him God) a solid 72 hours of sleep and a shower. The only person that knew where he was was the Sheriff, who'd agreed to keep his mouth shut so Rook could get away. He'd considered bringing Boomer just to ensure he had someone in the likely event he finally had a panic attack but decided against it when he realized it wouldn't be right to lock the dog in a bunker with no means of getting his own food or relieving himself while he slept. Rook willfully ignored the fact Boomer had a kill count like his own, and instead set out alone, leaving the dog with Sharky at the 8-Bit to be spoiled rotten with belly rubs and likely be fed pizza and other things he wasn’t supposed to. The last of his energy was spent hiking into the Whitetails at a healthy clip, staying under the cover of the thick pine trees and avoiding any form of contact with other humans, Peggies, hunters, or otherwise. The bunker was spacious enough to accommodate a full-sized bed and several large shelves of canned foods and purified water, as well as some boxed dried rations with 'The Best (insert food here) You'll Eat, Just Add Water!' slapped on the front in bold red lettering. A small dresser sat near the bathroom, a drawer slightly ajar with socks and undershirts hanging out as if the owner had been packing and was interrupted. His ears rang in the silence, but he relished it, taking a deep breath in and depositing his bag near the bed, his guns going on the rack by the ladder to be dealt with later, before he finally bent to unlace his boots. The mud, blood, and whatever else that had been caked onto the surface made it difficult to undo the knots at first, Rook grimacing at the smell that hit him when he finally yanked the first boot off. He couldn't remember the last time he'd swapped out his boots, and honestly, the smell told him it was probably before they'd flown to the compound when this godawful mess started. And that was three months ago. If he didn’t get trench foot or some other terrible fungal infection at some point, he had a good-luck streak the size of Texas. He let out a quiet grunt and set the boot aside, quickly yanking its twin off and proceeding to do the same with his socks, tossing those in the trash without even looking. He only owned white socks for ease of laundering, and those were absolutely not white. He went about stripping out of the rest of his clothes, dropping them into a pile on the floor to be bagged and dragged back to the nearest Resistance outpost to scrub, or burn depending on how bad the prognosis was. Once he'd peeled off his last layers, he straightened gingerly and waddled towards the bathroom, testing the sink to make sure the water was running before starting the shower and searching the cabinets for soap while it (hopefully) warmed. Whoever had stocked the bathroom had the sense to buy actual hair products, not just soap bars, and in a decent scent as well. It was nothing like John’s spread at the ranch, which he had unabashedly used just to spite the man, but it’d suit his needs. He grabbed everything necessary for a deep clean and dumped it unceremoniously into the shower caddy, stepping under the spray once he could see steam collecting in the air. 

Everything burned. His face, his hands, his chest, even his feet, the water was scalding. And for a moment he just stood in it, letting the water pummel him and drill into the layers of grime, dust, and sweat clinging to his skin before he fumbled for the dial and turned the temperature down. He didn't bother shutting the shower curtain, reaching for the shampoo and squirting and unnecessarily large dollop into his palm, lathering it into his hair slowly. It hurt to scrub against his scalp, weeks of going unwashed and keeping his dark wavy hair trapped under caps and beanies leaving the skin sensitive to even the slightest movement or pressure. But he kept scrubbing, rinsing out the bubbles as they turned brown, even black, before lathering up again, repeating until his hair felt clean. He did the same with his body, finally taking time to inspect the messy, rushed tattoo of 'WRATH' now permanently written across his pectorals. He saw where John blew out the lines on the T, where he grew shaky on the R and A after Rook had startled him upon waking, where he whipped out the last line on the H, leaving a faint trail of peppered dots in the skin leading towards his left nipple. He felt the indents where he cut into the skin with that tiny, single needle. Too much pressure tore the skin, making parts of it more scarification than tattoo, but really, what was the difference? It looked amateurish compared to his geometric sleeve, even the shitty little rose he had stick-and-poke tattooed on his left middle finger back in high school. But it was perhaps the most significant out of all the marks on his flesh. It marked him as a murderer, insisted that this whole nightmare with the Seeds and Eden’s Gate was, in fact reality. For one, wild, moment, he wondered if they’d all get some weird reality TV gig out of whatever-the-fuck this was once it was all over. Interviews on Good Morning America and FOX News, as if major news outlets cared what happened out near the Canadian border any more than they did the Mexican one. He could almost see monetization of such a tragedy, starting with some fundraising campaign for the families affected, and then some bullshit criminal trial to drag him, the Resistance, the Seeds, and Eden’s Gate through as much commercial-laden air time as possible before dropping them all off in some loony bin to drool and rock back and forth in their straight jackets. He’d bet money on it. Rook pulled in a shaky breath and dropped his hand from his chest, swallowing the knot in his throat as he rotated until the spray pummeled against his back, staring down at his feet with as much detachment he could muster. He’d never really tried to maintain fitness back in Oklahoma, it really hadn’t mattered since he hadn’t been looking to date and he’d been so burned out by call-center work to find hook-ups. But looking down now he was tempted to say he would have been snapped up by _someone_. He'd cut out, there was the faint start of the all-hailed 'V' at his hips, most of the soft fat around his middle from his years back in corporate America having been shed by months of nothing but hard-core trekking, cardio, and fear fueled combat (which probably also counted as cardio). 

Rook tilted his head back, letting the water thunder against his brow as he slowly started stretching out his back and shoulders, giving up on keeping his eyes open. It was too warm to even try, really, and his energy needed to be conserved now that he was running on fumes. He did peek just long enough to grab the body wash and do a third (fourth? Fifth?) scrub down of every nook and cranny of his body before he finally shut the water off and stepped out. The towel hanging above the toilet was small, but it was enough to get his hair to a damp state and wipe the excess water off his body, his next mission being finding a pair of boxers and then, finally, sleeping. To his benefit the dresser contained multiple unopened packs of boxer-briefs, all in black, and he tore into one to grab a pair, tugging them on unceremoniously. Whoever had stocked this place likely raided the Walmart clearance section when Fruit-of-the-Loom went on sale, because he found more unopened packs of shirts in various colors, long-john underpants, and socks in each drawer he opened. Rook dropped the pack of boxers to be handled later, forcing himself across the room to yank a bottle of water from the shelf before finally collapsing onto the bed. He tore the water bottle open and sucked it down, not caring if a third of it ended up running down his face, crumpling the bottle and tossing it vaguely towards the trashcan as he rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets up to his ears. He was unconscious within seconds. 

It was pitch black in the bunker when he first started venturing back into the world of the living, and for a moment he hazily wondered (hoped, prayed, wished) if he’d died in his sleep, however a press of his fingers at the pulse point under his jaw dashed that worry when he felt the lazy pumping of blood in his veins. He could hear rain thundering against the hatch, filling what silence had been there with the quiet, repetitive tapping of water on glass and metal. Rook groaned quietly and rolled onto his back, limbs too heavy to really move more than what was required to get his torso flat on the mattress. It was cold in the bunker, but it felt refreshing on his sleep-warmed skin, his lungs filling with chilled breaths as he dragged each one in through his nose and pushed out through his mouth. Everything still felt heavy, however it was not so hard to move as it had been before, his eyes gradually sliding open and staying open. He could place vague shapes in the dark, the shelves and the stove, and the ladder to the outside was faintly illuminated by moonlight that spilled in from the hatch window. Panic gripped him when he thought he saw a figure standing in the dark, but he thumped his head back down once he realized it was just one of the shelves playing tricks in the low light. Rook huffed out a breath and rolled onto his side once more, away from the shelves, and tried to get comfortable, rubbing at his sternum to get his heart to settle. And it almost had after a few minutes of silence and moderated breathing, but then he swore he heard the shift of clothing and his heart rate was back in the 200’s, his eyes wide open as he forced himself to listen for everything besides the rain. The thundering of blood in his ears did nothing to help, but he caught another shift behind him, closer than before, and then a hand pressed his head against the pillow, blunt fingers threatening at the edge of his eye socket and holding him firmly in place. He wasn’t breathing anymore, adrenaline rushing into every inch of his body as the hand, warm and rough, slid into his hair and took a hold of the tangled strands. For a moment there was silence, and then the person behind him let out a long, slow breath, almost sighing as they stroked a thumb against his temple. 

“Sleep well?” Any voice would have been better than the one that met his ears, the soft, gravelly timbre of Jacob Seed digging an icepick against every open nerve in his spine. “Sorta surprised me when you didn’t even flinch when I found you, but after running yourself ragged I can’t blame you for being dead to the world.” Rook didn’t answer, he did swallow loud enough that he was sure Jacob heard him, though the Herald didn’t seem to take offense to his silence. It was, after all, Rook’s signature. There was a dip in the mattress as Jacob presumably rested part of his weight behind him, a knee or a foot, leaning even closer and sliding his fingers further into the curls on top of Rook’s skull. Pulling just enough to make him very, very aware of how much control he had in the situation and craning his head back to look up at the barely visible form of Jacob above him. 

“The Resistance sure doesn’t take care of their own, huh?” He graced that with a small grunt, voice lost in the depths of his throat. “Nah, you would’ve picked a better protected spot if you trusted them to let you rest. Instead you risked going out alone instead of being interrupted by someone else’s demands.” That damned thumb was back at his temple, infuriatingly gentle as it stroked against the pulsing vein there. It almost felt nice, and out of context he would have relished having such warm hands tugging at his hair. 

“Tell me, Deputy. Is it worth all the exhaustion?” He paused long enough to make room for a response, taking in a small breath that was far too close to Rook’s ear for comfort before speaking again when he received none. “Because my Chosen caught sight of you stumbling up here, even called me and told me you looked ready to drop. Wanted to take the shot and drag you back for another…seminar.” He felt the hair raise at the back of his neck, a faint echo of an old song clawing at the edges of his hearing at the very mention of the chair, the slideshow, and the music. The red rooms. And with how close Jacob was he was sure the Herald noticed the tension and rise in his heart rate the moment it happened, his soft ‘tsk’ filling the silence. 

“I’m sure you thought you were so careful coming up here, avoiding the main roads, looking over your shoulder all the way. But you made mistakes. Messy ones too, and I’ll bet you didn’t even notice my Chosen following you, just waitin’ to take the shot.” Jacob tapped his thumb against Rook’s temple to emphasize his point, the warmth of Jacob’s leg searing into his back as he finally sat on the edge of the bed and leaned into Rook’s space, fingers curling back to squeeze at the base of his skull. Holding him in place like he would a wolf. Silence stretched between them for a long time, unbearably long in Rook’s opinion, before Jacob decided to speak again, squeezing the back of his neck. 

“But I know the value of leaving well enough alone.” A jab at what started this whole mess, Rook knew. “At least for a little while.” He released the back of Rook’s neck and pushed his shoulder, so he was lying on his back once more, Jacob’s palm searing into the exposed flesh. Rook was vaguely aware Jacob was sitting on his hips, using the blanket between them to trap him under his considerable weight, but he was far more aware of the fact his body had not taken the adrenaline and present threat as a reason to run, but in fact to give him the starts to an incredibly inappropriate erection. Sharky had once told him about fear-boners, they’d somehow managed to drop into the topics of ‘most inopportune sexual arousal’, trading stories about math finals, gym, even while reciting grace during Thanksgiving, and Sharky had busted out the old ‘she could crush me with her thighs and I popped a boner and it became a different kind of crushing’ story, which then transferred to them talking the logistics of why fear-boners even happened. And now Rook knew exactly why, staring up at Jacob fucking Seed as he dug into his pocket to find that god-awful music box, sitting squarely on his dick with absolutely no intention of minding any sort of personal space while he hummed the starting notes to That Song. There was something inherently, and wrongly, arousing about being faced with certain death, especially if that certain death was driven by a vehicle as unfortunately attractive as Jacob Seed. He would have been perfect jerking material in another life, or even a bathroom hook-up had his corporate self been brave enough to risk some under-stall action. He could feel himself slipping, the haze of red around his vision, his breathing going erratic. He did not, however, realize he’d bucked his hips upwards when he’d spasmed until Jacob went very still above him, hand halfway out of his pocket as he stared down at Rook with an invisible expression. His breathing was too loud, more like the panting of a rabid animal while he stared up and up and up, waiting for Jacob to do something but wishing he wouldn’t, the hand on his shoulder tightening until he could feel blunt nails digging into his skin. 

“Something you want to share with the class, Deputy?” His tone was calm, but Rook could hear the heated mocking behind it, heart thundering in his ears as the red tinge faded, pain starting to blossom where Jacob squeezed him. The next moments were a blur, Jacob snapping out his other hand and gripping Rook under his jaw, Rook flailing and grabbing his wrist to try and pull the vice grip away, legs kicking and struggling under Jacob’s weight, and his body taking all that input and apparently deciding it was “fuck-o-clock”. He felt himself throb at the pressure placed on his throat, a start of an erection becoming a full erection as he sucked in a sharp gasp for air. Despite Rook throwing his weight to the left to try and knock Jacob off the bed, the eldest Seed remained steadfast, pinning his head back against the pillow and dropping his weight further onto Rook’s hips, sitting on him like any summer camp bully would. He wasn’t cutting off air yet. Yet. Rook choked out a series of noises, none of which were words, but given the circumstances he was entitled to a little bit of spluttering. 

“Didn’t think the golden oldies got your motor revving.” It absolutely was not the oldies, but the alternative was admitting Jacob himself was the source of his current ‘problem’ and Rook would rather fellate Cheeseburger. Jacob, unfortunately, came to that conclusion himself, snorting above him and squeezing his throat, fingers tapping against his jugular for an unbearable minute as he seemed to consider his options. And Rook lay frozen underneath him, eyes now fully adjusted to the dark and very aware of the knife in Jacob’s thigh holster. It presented an escape route in multiple scenarios, but most of them ended with him with a throat slashed or missing a kidney instead of freedom. When Jacob finally seemed to come to a decision his weight shifted, not away like Rook wanted, but forwards until Jacob’s face was barely an inch away, practically cradling his jaw in one hand. He hated the fact a shudder ran through him when Jacob’s breath fanned out over his face and down his chest, hands flexing against the scarred flesh under his fingers. Rook’s breathing was still erratic, heart hammering away like it needed to flatten a thousand things, and Jacob loomed like a predator, their noses almost touching. It was intimate in all the wrong ways, sharing breaths and warmth, a thumb rubbing against his cheek as a hand dragged through his hair. He expected intimate dramatics from John, even Joseph, since both were far more tactile in their killing. But Jacob choosing to share air with him while he lovingly strangled his nemesis, the Project’s nemesis, didn’t ring as true to his character. Though Rook was certain he was completely capable of it. He did not expect Jacob to roll his hips down, a spike of pleasure, white hot and completely wrong, racing up his spine as he failed to bite back the soft groan that left him. The fucker did it again before he could figure out what was going on, Rook’s hands shaking as he gripped at Jacob’s forearm, trying to crane his head away to breathe fresher air, but Jacob held him in place, tipping his hand slightly so the knuckle of his thumb dug into the pulse point under Rook’s jaw, his throat constricting. The pressure grew gradually until his vision was tinged with black instead of red, and then Jacob let go, Rook hating the fact he sucked in a wet gasp of air and shuddered in relief, his cock throbbing hotly under his assailant’s weight. 

“You’re lucky I don’t really care about sinning.” The words were spoken against his neck, the scrape of Jacob’s beard alerting him to how close his teeth were to his flesh. A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed that those teeth had absolutely bitten through human flesh before, but his animal brain took that fear and sent another jolt of arousal towards his crotch, the heat of Jacob’s breath on his neck making him shiver. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Deputy. I take care of this little problem you’ve got going on, and when it’s time for you to come home you don’t fight it. I’ll even tell my Chosen to lay off the bliss arrows when they roll around to getcha. Just a good old ‘bag over the head in a white van’ kidnapping. Plausible deniability for you and I keep some special ammunition for another day.” Rook hated the fact he took a moment to consider the deal, knowing that he’d hate himself for letting Jacob so much as touch him in a sexual way but also greatly aware of the time it bought him in between trials. Time to de-program himself, time to save Pratt, time to continue stocking the bunker he’d found under John’s ranch. Time for anything but being strapped to a chair and conditioned for whatever Jacob was planning. He grimaced, swallowing and carefully, oh so carefully, dropping a hand from Jacob’s wrist, shaking as he gripped at his shirt to keep him rooted to the spot. Words were difficult; fear, adrenaline, and general disorientation making it very hard to string together a coherent sentence, but he managed after a moment of damning silence. 

“Time to ‘come home’…when?” Jacob chuckled, nuzzling against his neck with a hum. 

“A week, week and a half even. More than enough time for you to rest, cause your mayhem, and placate the masses.” God, a week was a shit-ton of time. A week and a half was even better, but that likely required he be an active participant and step down on his dignity for a little bit. His traitorous brain immediately supplied that he’d eaten mystery meat out of a dog bowl, barely using his hands and kneeling in a cage, right in front of Jacob Seed not a week previous. There really wasn’t any place lower to sink to than that, really. Rook felt his throat bob as he swallowed and forced himself to speak again, trying desperately to ignore how warm Jacob’s hand was at the side of his face. 

“Fine…no words…no ‘Deputy’.” He _felt_ Jacob’s smirk as much as he heard it, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. 

“If you want to pretend this isn’t what it is; sure can do, Adrien.” He shivered and, in that moment, realized he had made a deep miscalculation, the low inflection Jacob placed on his name, his actual name, sending lightning through his spine. There was no surprise the Seeds knew his real name, they’d done just as much research about him as he had done about them following Joseph’s failed arrest. But it was still unsettling to hear what amounted to a stranger refer to him by a name only friends were really allowed to know. He steeled himself for the ramifications of his decision and let himself be pulled into a kiss, Jacob’s hands shifting to hold his head in place as he descended like a starved animal. The first kiss was all teeth and tongue, Jacob seeming not to care whether he split Rook’s lips in as many spots as he licked him, one hand jerking the blanket away from his chest and wrestling it out of the way roughly. He couldn’t do much more than be ripped along with the tide, as if a dam had broken in Jacob and swept him up in the haze of another’s skin. He kept hold of his shirt, eventually managing to reciprocate the kiss and put a damper on the amount of biting by slipping his tongue into Jacob’s mouth, feeling a slight amount of pride at the way the older man groaned. Rook didn’t dare try sitting up, deciding not to break the tenuous trust that’d been forged between them and instead wriggling until he could get one leg free, hooking it around Jacob’s waist. His next goal was equalizing the amount of clothing, pulling away from the kiss long enough to grab at the top most layer Jacob wore and yanking at it to get his point across. His actions were met with a raspy chuckle, but acquiesced to following a moment of readjustment, the garment falling to the floor as Jacob reasserted himself in Rook’s space. 

“So fuckin’ demanding.” Rook let out a grunt in warning, jerking when Jacob slotted his thigh between his legs and pressed just hard enough to call attention to his completely unattended cock. “Who woulda thought Wrath himself would be such a bossy bitch in bed?” He risked pressing a knuckle into Jacob’s sternum just to shut him up, digging the digit in hard enough he knew it had to hurt before going back to his goal of disrobing (and disarming) him. Jacob was laughing, soft and low in his chest as Rook practically ripped his belt buckle open, fumbling with the button at the waistband of his jeans and then cursing when he realized Jacob wore jeans that had a button fly. Because of fucking course he would. 

“Language, Adrien. Isn’t that much of a crisis.” Rook drove the side of his fist into Jacob’s ribs, earning him a grunt as he looked up and glared at Jacob with as much anger as he could muster, which was a lot considering one of his stipulations for this fucking thing was being gleefully broken every few seconds. How hard was it to just be silent? All the Seed siblings just didn’t know how to shut the fuck up for the life of them and Jacob was rapidly becoming the worst of the four. Jacob hummed in amusement and leaned down to kiss him again, the action feeling like an apology, keeping his teeth at bay as he withdrew one arm to undo his fly himself. Rook only relented once it was clear Jacob was serious about divesting himself of his jeans, the thigh holster that kept his knife in place going loose as he slipped the fabric down his thighs. There was a moment of awkwardness as Jacob struggled to get his pants off while still staying on top of Rook, but he eventually managed it despite the lack of grace he displayed, and then he was back on top with a rush of breath. He grabbed Rook’s thigh and hiked it up around his waist, pressing him in against the mattress and attacking his neck with a low growl. He was sure to have beard burn by the end of this, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care, rolling his head back and squeezing his thighs around Jacob’s waist as he sucked a bruise into the crux of his shoulder. He didn’t get much of a reprieve, Jacob biting down on the mark hard enough to make him shout in pain and pleasure before his hips were pulled up and his boxers went to the other side of the room in one smooth motion. It was entirely possible they ended up hanging on one of the shelves, but he honestly couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation and was further disoriented when Jacob practically threw him onto his knees with an arm around his middle. He barely managed to settle his balance before he found himself pressed chest-first into the mattress, a searing hand settling between his shoulder blades and forcing him to arch his back obscenely. He was lucky not to get suffocated by the pillow in his current position, since it had been thrown off the bed along with the blankets in Jacob’s attempt to get at every inch of skin available. Jacob made an appreciative sound behind him and applied more weight between his shoulder blades, silently instructing him to stay put before the hand vanished along with Jacob’s weight from the bed. 

The rain was coming down harder, drilling loudly into the bunker hatch and the faint rolls of thunder reaching his ears as he listened to Jacob dig around, belatedly realizing he was likely going through _his_ bag to find something that could function as lube. Rook guessed it’d be one of two things, either the small bottle of gun oil the Sheriff had given him or one of about 900 bottles of Bliss oil he’d looted from Angels all over the Henbane. And if it was the Bliss oil, he really hoped it didn’t get him high like the usual Bliss did, though knowing his luck it’d be even more potent when used like a vodka-soaked tampon. The chill in the bunker rapidly set in on his bare skin and Rook took it upon himself to drop into a child’s pose while he waited for Jacob to return, slowing his breathing and willing himself off the frantic edge he’d been riled onto. He heard Jacob chuckle, and the bed dipped down behind him once more, a warm hand stroking along his back as the clinking of several bottles filled the air. He’d gone for the Bliss oil, the contrary fuck. The hand slid lower, gripping at his hip and tugging upwards until he was back in the position Jacob wanted, arched and presenting, before he pulled away and left Rook without touch once more. He popped open one of the bottles, the concentrated smell of Bliss filling the space and making his head swim, though he didn’t see a haze of green or the little white sparkles in his vision. The scent still drew his gut in, instinct geared towards avoiding it, but he forced himself to remain lax, moaning when Jacob wrapped a slick hand around his cock and gave him a scant few strokes. Hot and wet was all that constituted his thoughts in that moment, Rook finding himself vaguely aware of the strange sensitivity along his cock as he flexed his hips forward to chase the tunnel of Jacob’s hand. And of course, he had to be denied, Jacob dragging his fingers away and leaving his cock open to the cold air as he trailed his touch back along his balls and towards his ass. All Rook could do was hold himself steady and breathe, through his mouth to avoid further Bliss exposure, while Jacob contented himself with teasing and slicking his entrance. Jacob didn’t seem interested in wasting time with a gentle prep, another bottle opening and Rook biting himself when a finger was pressed in and down, the jolt of pleasure mixed in pain making his knees slip on the sheets of the bed. He didn’t want to make the joke that Jacob was a sniper in more than one aspect, but fuck if he didn’t have good aim on the first try, a low whine leaving him as his insides felt like they turned to liquid gold. After a few shallow presses Jacob withdrew his finger and knocked a knee between Rook’s legs, forcing his stance wider as he slid in behind him, the hot press of raw flesh against his ass bringing his previously swimming thoughts back into sharp clarity. 

“Condom?” He was surprised his voice was as lucid as it sounded, Jacob huffing out a laugh as he bit his shoulder again, gentler this time, and dragged his hands along his sides. 

“Had a box, but you’re empty. Can’t imagine what you’d be using those for.” He squeezed his ass, slapping against the flesh softly as he dragged his teeth along Rook’s neck. 

“Good for rigging cars.” Jacob hummed, idly dragging a hand through his hair before he hooked a handful and yanked his head back, forcing Rook to sit up and put his weight on his heels, his back pressed against Jacob’s chest. He choked slightly on the breath he’d been trying to pull in, panic filling his chest at the sudden change of position until he was practically seated in Jacob’s lap with his legs spread wide to accommodate the man’s ridiculous thighs between them. 

“Sure as hell didn’t teach you that in the academy, did they? Been learning from that Boshaw friend of yours?” Rook groaned and dug his nails into Jacob’s thigh to get him back for the pain in his scalp, hissing when the grip on his hair tightened and pulled his head back even further, exposing his throat. 

“Said…no…words.” Jacob looped his other arm around and gripped under his jaw, keeping him rooted to the spot as he lined himself up and started pressing in, Rook scrambling to find something to grab hold of as Jacob released his hair and pushed down on his hip to make the breach easier. 

“You were the one that started it, sweetheart.” The pet name was very nearly growled out, more of a mockery of intimacy as Jacob kept pressing in, bucking up in short thrusts that knocked everything but white-hot noise out of his brain. Rook couldn’t manage a snarky response, or even a physical retaliation as he bore down on the burn arching up through him, each breath coming shaky as he felt himself stretch around his cock. And it burned the entire way down, he didn’t get a moment of relaxation between the head of the cock entering and everything else following suit, he had to bear down for every. Goddamn. Inch. Jacob hit him with. He heard Jacob panting softly behind him, his breath searing into his shoulder as he finally sunk down to the hilt, the hand at under his jaw barely applying any pressure as he got himself back into order. Rook could feel his cock drooling between his legs, leaving wet dabs of precum on his thigh where his cock bobbed with each heaving gasp he took, vision swimming with white particles hedging at the edges. Fuck his luck, seriously. He spat out a curse and flexed his thighs to try and give himself a rest, but Jacob kept him in place, squeezing at his throat with a low groan before he started bucking up into him. He apparently had no intentions of easing him into things, either, since the first sharp jerk of his hips sent Rook’s teeth clacking together hard enough he was worried he might break one if he didn’t keep his mouth in check. Nor did he feel it necessary to handle Rook with any sort of care, taking one elbow in a hard grip and shoving him face down into the mattress before fucking into him roughly. His breathing was limited sharp gasps and hisses in between bouts of utter breathlessness, a hand gripping the back of his neck to keep him in place and perfectly angled into Jacob’s thrusts. He wasn’t complaining though, not when he could feel every thrust in his throat and it was doing wonderfully terrible things to insides. He knew the Bliss was settling in full force when he stopped tensing and relaxed into the motions, moans spilling out into the sheets and mind ignoring the fuck-drunk chatter he’d tried to ban that was now going on behind him. Chatter that sounded like a prayer every time Jacob panted out his name. He was only truly aware of three details. Jacob fucked like a machine, he would absolutely be sore afterwards, and Adelaide owed him a fat fucking $700 for winning an unwinnable bet. Rook wrapped a hand around one of the bars of the bedframe, barely caring if his knuckles knocked against the wall as Jacob bucked into him again, sloppier and with far more expletives mixed into his breathing now that he was running out of steam. It wasn’t going to last, and this was punctuated by Jacob finally releasing the back of his neck and bracing his palms against the bed, slowing his pace but making up for it in spades with the force behind it, Rook having to catch himself from biting his tongue. When he tried to slide a hand underneath himself to palm at his cock he was very swiftly discouraged by a sharp bite to his side, pain lancing up from his ribs and mixing with another wave of pleasure as Jacob jerked his hips forward simply to prove his point. Having learned his lesson Rook transferred his grip to Jacob’s dog tags, holding them like a lifeline as he arched into the jagged thrusts, panting out soft pleas he knew he would regret later. But in the moment they felt right, they felt raw, and they came without struggle. 

His orgasm didn’t sneak up on him so much as it crashed over his head, white flashing behind his eyelids as he spilled over the sheets, yanking his awareness away from Jacob’s own climax seconds later, a wash of heat filling him from the inside and leaving him boneless. Rook was aware he’d torn a hole in the sheet from biting at it, his jaw aching as he released the fabric. Jacob shifted behind him, searing hot forehead pressed between his shoulder blades and heaving breaths fanning out over his skin, a hand idly petting down his side. Urging him to stay placated and calm. And Rook did, he settled his weight on his elbows and breathed, trying to blink away the Bliss despite knowing it wouldn’t fade for at least another few minutes at the concentration he’d been exposed to. His legs were shaking, as were his arms, and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that Jacob wasn’t a terrible fuck. He definitely needed to learn the value of foreplay, but he had the fucking part down pat. Rook groaned as Jacob pulled away, letting himself slump onto his side, diligently ignoring the press of Jacob’s head against his hip until it started causing the faint twinges of an oncoming cramp. Rook kicked a leg out, nailing Jacob in the stomach and earning him a satisfying whoosh of air from the Herald’s lungs.

“Off.” 

“Not gonna risk that.” He huffed and pulled himself up onto his elbows, glaring in the general direction of Jacob. “My knees will go out under me if I try’n stand. Give me five minutes.” Rook didn’t feel any sympathy for him whatsoever but did give himself leeway to gloat internally about temporarily handicapping one of the Seeds with their own body, however underhanded the means were. He steadfastly did not think about how much he had missed having someone nuzzling into his hip after a good fuck. Not at all. Rook rolled his head back and sighed, gradually feeling his body come back online. The places where Jacob had bit him started aching, his scalp tender, and his lower back twinging from the rough handling. He despised the fact he had the excuse of no longer being twenty as a reason why he’d be so sore, but there he was, feeling his age after not acting like it in the slightest. At the very least he wasn’t alone in that shame, and based on Jacob’s very measured breaths against his stomach he knew exactly how badly he’d muddled things. Eventually Jacob pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long-suffering sigh, silence stretching between them for a long moment. It was companionable, in a weird way, both too tired and sated to immediately lash out with words or weapons even though that was their destiny. He could make out the silhouette of Jacob’s head bowed against his chest, breaths coming steadier and slower as he regained the remainders of his composure and returned to himself. He stood, stumbling slightly when the blood rushed from his head, bracing against the bed with a grunt, turning his attention to Rook with a huff. 

“Mind if I piss?” Rook snorted, shaking his head. 

“Knock yourself out.” Jacob nodded curtly and wandered down towards the toilet, at least having the decency to turn his back once he’d found the light switch, since the bathroom didn’t have a door of its own. An oversight, but likely not one that was considered since the bunker was built for one. Rook silently waited, and then realized he’d likely be next based on the sudden screaming of his bladder, barely waiting for Jacob to vacate the bathroom before he hurried inside and completed his own constitutional. He was vaguely aware that Jacob was getting dressed, the clinking of his belt snapping through the silence as Rook shakily made his way back to the bed. His boxers had been returned, which was a kind enough gesture that he decided not to comment and instead just dress before gently settling onto the mattress once again. He watched as Jacob tugged on each layer of his clothing, slotting it back into place over his form until Jacob Seed stood before him once more, a hand swiping at his hair to get it back to some semblance of control. The light from the bathroom was all they had, and Rook almost wished it was dark again so he could avoid seeing the flush still settled in Jacob’s face and lips, the way his eyes drooped slightly from the haze of a good orgasm. There was a man there, a person behind all the horrors and violence. A man that Rook might have liked, had things been different. That was always the crux of the issue though, the Seeds would have been good people, had things been even slightly different. Had John been given a different, kinder foster family, had Joseph identified the Voice for the mental illness it was and not God, had Jacob been given better VA care and an opportunity to work through his PTSD. Had Rachel, and all the other Faiths before her, been given a chance in life at all. Jacob grunted, bringing him back around to the present situation, brows quirked at his hazy silence. He was sure he didn’t look much better, completely fucked out as he was, and he motioned to his head before miming sparkles, hoping that the excuse of Bliss exposure was enough to get by. Both men shared a tired snort and he held Jacob’s gaze for a long moment. Things had changed between them whether they liked it or not, no action was made in a microcosm or in utter isolation. This would impact them later, even if Rook really had no idea how. 

He did, however, know the moment Jacob made the decision to kiss him again. One stride was all that was between them, and then their mouths met, not in a clash as he expected, but a languid press. Jacob cupped the back of his head almost gently, digging his fingers into the curls he’d thoroughly abused and his teeth threatening against Rook’s lower lip. It was almost domestic, kissing after sex. But, as with any predator, it did not do well to be lax in their presence. Rook groaned softly when he felt Jacob take the edge of his lip between his teeth, a thrill racing through him, and then pain exploded at the right side of his mouth. He jerked back and pressed a hand to the wound, finding his lower lip split through and bleeding, the taste of copper already hitting his tongue as blood seeped through his fingers and down his chin. Jacob had blood in his beard, and a faint, manic grin on his face, his too bright teeth caked in red as he rolled his head to the side. 

“Don’t get lazy, Deputy. The wolves are always circling.” With that he turned, collected his rifle from the rack near the ladder, and climbed out into the dark and raining forest above. He _would_ have liked him if things were different, but they were not, and Jacob Seed was still a raging asshole. Rook spat out a curse and went to the bathroom to grab tissues, pressing a haphazard clump to the side of his mouth as he let the excess blood in his mouth drain into the sink. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror, he didn’t pay attention to the marks littering his neck and shoulders, he absolutely did not grace the fucked out look on his face with any sort of mental response. He didn’t get a chance to do much else, a loud clap from the ladder making him jump. For a moment he assumed it was just the hatch, but when he looked, he knew the lapse in judgement would be his downfall. There, on the floor, sat Jacob’s music box on its side. He heard the bunker hatch slam shut, felt his legs move as he rushed to shut the box, but the first notes of That Song crooned out into the air before he could get close enough. His knees went out from underneath his weight, the bunker tilting at an impossible angle and his vision went red, the thundering of his heart filling his ears until he collapsed into nothingness. His wrath was culminated in a simple, three-word phrase. 

_Fuck_ Jacob Seed.

**Author's Note:**

> I might do a second chapter from Jacob's POV, but that's up to the stars alignment at this point OTL
> 
> Also:  
> [Adelaide](https://media.giphy.com/media/RdhrmPpmhoxG/giphy.gif)
> 
>  
> 
> [Rook, about to be $700 dollars richer](https://media1.tenor.com/images/28a39acefba62f0e2d4c6f53366ddf00/tenor.gif?itemid=12400546)


End file.
